Page 30 of Jason Bourne
“You should sleep,” I told her.
She shot me a look. “Says the man who hasn’t closed his eyes in two days.”
“Difference is, I’m used to it.”
Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. More like the old familiar edge between us—the one that had kept us apart all those years. I went to her and pulled her into my arms.
“You called Zoe,” I said.
“Of course I did.”
“And?”
“She’s been working Harris from her end. She’s coming here.” Lane dragged in a breath, leaning against the desk. “She’ll tear this place apart if she thinks it’ll get her answers.”
I folded my arms. “Runs in the family.”
She laughed, but it cracked halfway through. Then she went quiet, staring at the floor.
“Five years,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I broke us up. I have loved you forever. I used to spend all night wanting to call you.”
Her eyes lifted, pinning me like they always had. I stepped closer, the air thick with everything unsaid. “I wanted you every single day, Lane. Don’t ever think I didn’t.”
Her breath caught, sharp and shaky. For a second, I thought she’d close the distance. But then her phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
She checked the screen, and all the color drained from her face. “Jason…it’s Marcie’s phone. It just pinged on the north ridge.”
I grabbed my jacket. Whatever storm was brewing between us, it would have to wait. The girl came first.
33
Lane
The north ridge loomed black against the stars when Jason slowed the truck and pulled to the shoulder. “They’ll be here any minute.”
Before I could ask, headlights appeared in the distance. Not one vehicle—three. Moving in tight formation, dust rising in their wake.
I knew those trucks.
Jason didn’t even have to say it as four men climbed out—Forest Reed, Huck Fraiser, Nate Hayes, and Rush Turner. Frasier Mountain’s quiet guardians, though everyone in town thought of them as just neighbors, friends, the kind of men you could call to help cut a tree or fix a roof.
I knew better.
“Lane,” Forest said first, dark eyes sharp as ever. “You got Harris?”
“He’s in a cell,” I answered. “But Marcie Turner’s still out there. Her phone pinged up here about an hour ago.”
Nate gave a low whistle. “Kid’s only sixteen, right? That’s bad.”
Rush shook his head. “Real bad.”
They all looked at me—not with doubt, but expectation. They’d seen me on that ship. They knew I could fight as hard as they could.
Jason’s hand brushed mine, steady. “You’ve got the badge, Lane. Your call.”
I squared my shoulders, the weight of every set of eyes pressing on me. “We sweep the ridge. Quiet, tight formation. If Harris has men up here, we don’t give them a chance to scatter.”
“Copy that,” Fraiser said with a grin. “Good to have you calling the shots.”
